


Lines

by orphan_account



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Depression, but - Freeform, but you’ll understand when you get to the last paragraph, cuz its not really, i don’t wanna write major depictions of violence, may i reiterate, not really - Freeform, self harm tw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-03-19 09:34:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13701771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: This is my first time writing angst. Please forgive me I’m in a weird mood right now.





	Lines

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing angst. Please forgive me I’m in a weird mood right now.

Thee first half of the day had just dragged on and on, Connors shoulders heavier than usual and feeling more tingly than most other days. He’s never felt this way this long before, only a couple days in the past with it lasting for half an hour or so, but not four whole hours. The smallest inconveniences make him want to yell and scream yet also simply sit down and refuse to take orders from anyone. He can’t stand it whatsoever.  
The feeling doesn’t go away during lunch hour. As he sits alone on the bathroom floor, he can’t help but just shake. In anger or anxiety or something else- he doesn’t know, he just knows he can’t stand this place any more.  
The halls are almost empty with people being either off campus or in the cafeteria, yet that doesn’t stop him from being stopped by teachers patrolling the halls. He gets out of it by simply making excuses and is soon running down the street back home. He can’t bring himself to care about the cars honking as they almost run him over, and, he doesn’t have a clue or two why, he wishes they did. He wishes they just ran him over and broken a few bones, possibly even-  
Woah!  
Stop. What is happening to him. Connor takes the house key from his pocket and unlocks the red front door. He drops the rucksack on the floor near the kitchen door and runs up the stairs, two at a time, racing into the bathroom he shares with Zoe. He looks at his reflection in the mirror. It doesn’t look like him. It looks like an imposter. Maybe if he washes his face it’ll get better… nope.  
As he stares at himself in the mirror, chin rested in his palms, his eyes go in and out of focus. His face, the shower, his face, the shower head, face, shampoo bottles, face, shaving cream, face, Zoe’s razor.  
His legs tingle and shake. He’s suddenly all too aware of the lack of breath in his chest and the feeling in his wrists. It’s a strange feeling. He can see they’re normal and nothing is wrong, but it feels like they’re… swelling? No, that’s not the word. Like something is trying to escape. Too quickly, the door is locked at the shower is on and his hair and clothes are wet and there’s a pink razor in his hand.  
His eyes dart between the razor and his exposed left arm. He gnaws on his bottom lip and squeezes his eyes shut, slowly taking the razor and pressing it to his wrist. It takes a few swipes before small dots of blood begin to appear.  
It’s breathtaking. Not in the good way, though. It’s a strange sight. Although, he can’t help but feel good about it. Like something is finally being let loose. As the blood begins to drip out faster, the razor is left back right where is was, and slight orange-ish pink liquid is being forced down the drain with the water. The razor catches his eye again.  
Connor ignores it and presses a hand to the small slits, taking it the pain as he knows he’ll never feel it again. The world slows down and he knows he lost too much blood, so he gets out the shower to find a package of bandaids. He lays a couple upon the red lines, right after admiring them. To think, only half an hour ago, he was in math class bored to death, now he’s doing… _this_. He can’t help but feel empty, knowing that this was his last resort.  
Connor spends the rest of the day with a hoodie sleeve tightly over his left arm, though he’s home alone most of the time. Cynthia comes home at noon with a couple of her girlfriends, which forces Connor to hide in his room for an hour and be more careful. When they leave, he sits at the kitchen table crying.  
God, what would everyone think? They would think he’s a freak, that’s what. Connor Murphy, the psychopath that cuts his wrists and screams at his parents in his spare time. Whatever, that’s a problem for future Connor. Seventeen year old Connor, last year before legally becoming an adult. Sounds like a plan.

**Author's Note:**

> If you’re feeling so bad that you feel the need to harm yourself in any way shape or form, please please please talk to someone. It’ll get better. I promise. No matter how bad it is, it’ll always get better.  
> A list of help lines regarding everything and anything can be found here: http://oneloveallequal.org/2016/08/24/self-harm-hotlines/ (simply just copy and paste the link)


End file.
